BEHIND Cairns, which has a large and sheltered harbour, spoilt
only by its bar of easily removed stiff clay, the land rises
in a great jungle-covered wall, 2000 feet high, which culminates
some thirty-five miles to the south in the peaks of Bellenden
Ker and Bartle Frere, each over 5000 feet, which is a good height
for Australia, whose loftiest mountain, Kosciusko, is only 7000
feet. Through this mountain wall the River Barren cuts its way,
making a sheer leap of 600 feet before it enters the narrow canon
by which it attains the level plain at the foot of the Range.
When the river is in flood the Fall forms a spectacle not easily
forgotten, and is one of the sights of Australia. Many years
ago I went to Kuranda, a small settlement above the Fall, to
recuperate after an illness, and the river being very low it
occurred to me to see if I could climb down the face of the Fall.
This I successfully accomplished, wearing a pair of rubber shoes,
going out on to the jutting rock half-way down and then continuing
my way to the bottom. In one place I had to make my way along
a crack in the face of the cliff, and it suddenly dawned on me
that it was the only way to negotiate it, and that I might easily
miss it on my return and get into trouble. I felt in my pockets,
and finding a piece of white paper I jammed it into a crack.
Sure enough on my return I did miss the right place, and finding
I could go no farther I looked about until I saw the paper about
ten feet above me, and was enabled to return safely. When I got
back to Kuranda I thought it was about time that I returned to
work. A path has now been made to the bottom opposite the Fall,
but I never heard of any one else descending the face.

The excellence of Cairns as a port was probably the reason
that induced the Government, some thirty years ago, to decide
on taking the railway to the interior up the gorge of the Barren
River. The undertaking was one of great difficulty, the line
passing along the face of a huge bluff through numerous tunnels,
in front of, and only a few feet above, the Fall. During the
construction the soil was thrown from the line over 1000 feet
or more of cliff, and occasionally a workman went the same way.
Of course the line is a success from a spectacular point of view
and attracts many tourists, but it is inconvenient and expensive
to work and liable to be destroyed in wet seasons by great landslides
and by the blocking of the tunnels. Before the line was made
the road, crossing about two miles above the Fall, was reported
very dangerous, many persons having been drowned in fording the
river. On one occasion, when riding up from Cairns with my sister,
we observed two men just entering the water from the opposite
side. When they saw us in the distance they stopped and returned
to the bank, where one man got off his horse and pretended to
be washing his hands. When they saw that we had crossed in safety
they resumed their journey. The incident is fortunately entirely
unique in my long experience of Australia.

About thirty-five miles inland from the Range over which the
Barron empties itself is a further rise of 1000 feet leading
up to the main divide. On this higher table-land is situated
the little mining township of Herberton, where I spent four happy
years, 1887-1891. The brawling Wild River runs through the township,
and is crossed by a bridge three thousand feet above; sea-level.
Herberton was at that time famous for its tin-mines, which were
more profitable than gold. While I was there, two working miners
discovered a very rich "show" which they sold for £60,000.
One of them built a fine house, got married, and chartered a
special steamer to take him to Sydney for his honeymoon; the
other selected a simpler means of getting rid of his unaccustomed
wealth. He took to racing, and in less than two years both men
were again working for wages in the mine that they had discovered.

A somewhat similar case was told me by a mine manager near
Herberton. He was working in the early days on the rich alluvial
field of the Palmer, and having accumulated £1050, he thought
that he would pay a long-deferred visit to his mother in Sydney.
He set aside £50 for the purpose of bidding farewell to
his friends in Cooktown, and took the £1000 in five-pound
notes, which he put into his hand-bag. On his way to Sydney he
stayed for a fortnight in Brisbane and spent the time in driving
round and seeing old and new friends. When he wanted money he
would go to his (unlocked) bag and take out a number of notes.
At the end of the fortnight he found only two left, which just
covered his bill, and so he availed himself of his return ticket,
went on board the steamer, and returned to Cooktown, a sadder
and, it is to be hoped, a wiser man.

I made my first visit to Herberton by coach from Port Douglas,
a small port with no harbour worth mentioning, about thirty miles
north of Cairns. The passengers are landed in a small boat, no
very pleasant experience in rough weather. The coach was full,
and among my fellow-passengers inside were a fat German Jew,
an exquisitely dressed young "Jackeroo" going for the
first time to a station for "colonial experience,"
and a tall young "new chum" Irishman, who appeared
with such a huge swag that the driver ordered him to take it
back and leave half the contents behind. The Irishman presently
returned with the diminished bundle, and we prepared to start.
We could not help noticing that the Irishman seemed to have grown
in size since we first saw him, and when he sat down between
his companions on either side it was like a cork being driven
into a bottle. We questioned him as to his sudden increase of
size, and he related with great glee that he had taken two suits
of thick clothes out of his swag and had put them on over his
other clothes. We had not long to wait for an exemplification
of Horace's motto, Raro antecedentem scelestum Deseruit pede
poena claudo. At the foot of the Range the coach pulled up
and the driver fired off his ancient witticism: "Now then,
any of you gentlemen like to get out and pick flowers?"
The temperature was 105° in the shade, the Range three miles
long and the angle of ascent for the first half-mile as steep
as any vehicle could negotiate in safety. By the time we walked
up to the top and were allowed to get in again, our Irish friend
was cursing the driver, his three suits, the weather, and the
road with laudable impartiality. Near the summit was an accommodation
house famous for its buttered scones, and these restored our
hero's equanimity. On getting into the coach he dropped a buttered
scone down on to the sleeve of the Jackeroo's new black coat,
and in response to his remonstrances remarked: "What's the
matter with it? Sure, it's the foinest bread and butter I ever
saw in my loife." I regret to say that in one of the many
suits he had secreted a big bottle, and he finished up by getting
very drunk and going to sleep with his head on the knees of the
disgusted Jackeroo, whose face of indignant protest convulsed
the rest of the passengers. The German Jew made himself as unpleasant
as his tribe usually manage with the best intentions to do, and
it is to be feared that he was chiefly greeted with laughter
when, on our being turned out again to walk over a rocky crossing,
he slipped on a stone and fell headlong into the stream.

We spent the night at an accommodation house, famous for the
simplicity of its breakfasts, which consisted of bread and butter
and an ordinary iron bucket filled to the brim with boiled eggs.
I remember on a subsequent occasion staying there for the night
with my sister, whom I had just met on her arrival from England.
My sister innocently asked the woman of the house when tea would
be ready. "Oh, directly," was the reply; "there
it is coming in," pointing to a bullock being driven up
to be killed. She was not to be persuaded to have any, even when
the host pointed with his knife and inquired persuasively, "Try
'eart?"

There was a direct track from Cairns to Herberton, but it
was not practicable for wheels. It scaled the Range at a place
where it was like the wall of a house, and then passed through
some twenty-five miles of dense scrub.

It is a part of the curious Australian meiosis to call
the tropical jungle "scrub," on the same principle
on which they call the wedge-tailed eagle, the largest eagle
in the world, excelling even the famous golden eagle, an "eagle-hawk."
The scrub is composed of magnificent trees, whose straight stems
run up one hundred feet or more without a branch: cedar, kauri,
mahogany, and a vast variety of valuable timber. One man sent
to the Colonial Exhibition in London one hundred specimens of
furniture timbers all cut within one mile of his house. These
trees are laced together with innumerable creepers, among which
the famous "lawyer-vine" predominates. If it once gets
hold of you it will never let go. The track through the scrub
is always in deep shade, and consequently hardly ever dries,
the feet of the pack-horses soon plough it into deep furrows,
and every horse is obliged to step into the same holes as it
slips and staggers through the slippery mud. The sides of the
track have to be carefully avoided as they are lined with the
stinging tree Urtica gigantica, a giant nettle, twelve
to eighteen feet in height, whose sting causes acute pain, which
is renewed for some months after whenever the part stung is brought
in contact with water. The stinging tree will kill a horse in
a few minutes if, as is generally the case, the horse lashes
out and gets stung all over the body. Even the dust of the tree
is an acute irritant, and a whip touching the tree and then the
hand will cause a most painful sting. A smaller variety of the
tree grows near Cairns and in other places, but I never saw such
large and evil trees as in the Herberton scrub. Like the nettle,
it is rare in the untouched ground, but it springs up along tracks
that have been used and neglected. Curiously enough, though so
fatal to torses (I have known eleven killed by it in half an
hour), bullocks will eat and apparently enjoy it. Like the nettle
it will not sting if grasped very tightly, but the pain of the
sting is so great that one is not often inclined to experiment.
The scrub abounds in curious birds, of which those that most
strike the traveller are the beautiful lyre- and rifle-birds,
the scrub pheasant, the bell-bird with the strange bell-like
cry, the whip-bird, whose call the tyro inevitably mistakes for
the stock-whip of a distant bullock-driver, and a bird whose
cry is exactly like the ringing of a wood-cutter's axe.

Some of the scrub insects grow to a great size. I once found
a brown mantis, which measured eleven and a half inches in length
and a foot across the wings. The ordinary small mantis of a couple
of inches in length is a ferocious creature. I have seen one
seize a grasshopper much larger than itself and proceed to eat
it steadily up, commencing with the head. Such a monster as I
have described must have been a regular tiger among the insects
of the forest. The mantides take very curious shapes; some of
them imitate dry twigs, others grass and straws. I have seen
one on an orange-tree which was an exact replica of an orange-tree
leaf. They have obtained their name of "praying mantis"
from their habit of holding their two front feet, or hands, in
the air in front of their very ugly faces, but they are gross
hypocrites, and "preying mantis "would suit them very
much better.

The sunny openings and outskirts of the scrub swarm with butterflies,
and at night with moths of enormous size. Some of the butterflies
are of extraordinary brilliancy and beauty, especially the large
and small metallic blue butterflies, and both they and the moths
are often protectively marked. One very large moth, which rests
in the foliage of the trees, has on its wings two enormous eyes
exactly resembling those of a cat, and birds give it a wide berth;
another has an elongated wing, the markings of which resemble
the head and eye of a snake. It is not interfered with.

In the streams, which are perennial, issuing as they do from
the cool depths of the jungle, the strange "duck-billed
platypus" is still found with his beautiful fur, which has
almost led to his extinction, and the curious "tree-climbing
kangaroo" was first found within a few miles of Herberton.

There is now a railway to Herberton, but in the days of which
I speak communication with the outer world was slow and difficult,
especially during the wet season. A theatrical company, which
had ventured up to Herberton, was stuck up for six weeks on the
banks of Rifle Creek, and Herberton was without supplies for
the same period. At last one day the welcome sound of pack-horse
bells was heard and the whole population, who had been living
on half-pounds of sugar and scrapings of tea-caddies, turned
out to welcome some forty loaded pack-horses. When, however,
it was discovered that every pack-horse was loaded with grog,
the welcomes were turned into anathemas. This is the only occasion
that I remember when the arrival of grog was not welcomed in
North Queensland.

Although Herberton was only 17 degrees south of the Equator,
its height made the climate very cool, and it was quite a common
thing to have the water freeze in one's bedroom. I have seen
quite thick ice after midday, and I have sometimes been so stiff
with cold in the middle of the day that I could hardly get off
my horse. It was a part of my duty to visit and hold services
in the little townships within a radius of some fifty miles,
and many a long and weary journey I had over the mountains. One
of these townships had a working population (there was no other)
of twenty men, and these supported somehow the incredible number
of six hotels. One man combined a store with his hotel; but even
so it is hard to see how they got a living. Another township,
long since gone into oblivion, and where there were no police,
used to organize races on Saturday night at which men ran down
the main street in primeval garb. I had here a little iron house
in which I sometimes stayed for a few days while trying to inculcate
more conventional methods of dress and demeanour. It was six
feet by eight feet, and contained a bed, stove, harmonium, and
other luxuries. It had one advantage, for being on the plain
beyond the mountains it was very hot, and I was in no danger
of oversleeping myself in the mornings. The bed, or rather bunk,
ran the six feet way of the house, and being over six feet in
height myself, my feet had to rest against the sheet-iron wall
which faced east; shortly after sunrise the iron became red hot,
or so it used to seem to me, and I hastily got up and out of
my "house."

One of the places I visited, Thornborough, was about fifty
miles away over the mountains on a wild and desolate track. One
day I had to ride over immediately on my return from a long journey,
and on the way back my faithful horse, who thought that I was
asking more than a fair thing, settled the matter by quietly
lying down. It was dark and I had just heard the blacks, who
at that time were supposed to be dangerous, cooee-ing round me.
I took off my swag and saddle and hung them in a tree, and proceeded
on my way on foot after hobbling the horse. Some mile or two
farther on I knew there was a Chinamen's garden, the only house
on that dreary track, but to get to it I had to cross a river
and brave a number of savage dogs, and the fact that the Chinamen,
whose garden had been often robbed by the blacks, were in the
habit of shooting at the slightest sound. The house was only
about two hundred yards beyond the river, so I took off my boots
and crossed very gingerly for fear of arousing the dogs, and
then approached to a safe distance and lifted up my voice loudly.
The Chinamen proved most hospitable and gave me supper, which
was welcome, as I had had nothing since breakfast, and I promised
them a pound if they would bring in my horse and saddle safely.
Both appeared next day with a neat little bill for "12 lbs.
sweet potato eaten by the horse." It appears that after
I had gone my horse recovered, or thought he had done enough
to maintain his right to fair treatment; at any rate he followed
on my tracks, broke into the Chinamen's garden and ate the twelve
pounds of sweet potatoes aforesaid. I don't know how the Chinamen
estimated the amount, but in business matters they are always
extremely honest.

My work often brought me home late on Sunday nights over the
main Dividing Range, and it was a weird ride. The road passed
in one spot through a narrow gorge to which I gave in my own
mind the name of Tzal Maveth--the Valley of Death; even on a
fairly fine night it was as black as pitch. On the open mountain
I remember only one night on which it was quite dark. On that
night I could not see the sky nor my hand held against it. I
met a man and stopped to speak to him, but we could neither see
the faintest trace of the other, though we were not a yard apart.
It added to the difficulty that there were many side tracks which
the horse always wanted to take, but which were dangerous on
account of the many old mining shafts. I and my horse did once
suddenly drop four or five feet, but fortunately it was only
into a creek. The night-birds would sound their inexpressibly
mournful notes, and a dingo would often follow for miles, rustling
through the bushes alongside or padding tirelessly behind.

The true Australian bush has generally a note of sadness,
whether by day or by night. By day one is struck by the monotony,
the weird and distorted shape of the trees, the absence of animal
and bird life, and the universal greyness of the tones, which,
however, have a beauty and an interest of their own. The dreariness
is increased by the many bush fires which sweep over the country,
accompanied by great flights of crows and hawks on the watch
for the snakes, lizards, and small animals driven out or caught
by the flames.

At night the smouldering logs look like the encampment of
a giant army, while sometimes the flames get inside a hollow
tree which flares over the surrounding country like a blast-furnace.

The scrub lands are very valuable, the soil being deep and
rich, and large areas have now been cleared and settled. The
whole region is volcanic, and there are several lakes in the
scrub so deep that no bottom has been found. Evidently they are
old craters. The timber is now taken away by train, but some
thirty years ago about £20,000 worth of cedar was cut by
a large firm and taken to the Barren in order to be floated to
the sea. For some years there was no big flood, but it came at
last. The great logs, four and five feet in diameter, made the
plunge over the Fall in safety, but once down there was no stopping
them and they sailed twenty or thirty miles out to sea, where
only a small proportion of them were eventually recovered.

The rich soil, cool climate, and abundance of water made the
table-land behind Cairns one of the best agricultural centres
in Queensland, and the district is advancing by leaps and bounds.
The children are rosy-cheeked and healthy, and the climate all
that can be desired. It seems a pity that the glorious scrub
should be rapidly becoming a thing of the past, but as long as
man lives by bread he must clear the soil. The Queensland Government
should surely, however, keep considerable areas of untouched
scrub as National Parks, and as a refuge and asylum for the peculiar
fauna and flora of the district; for once destroyed it can never
be replaced. There is at present an ever-increasing number of
visitors who come north to escape the southern winter, but they
will not come merely to see flourishing farms where once the
giant trees formed aisles of deepest shade, and the gorgeous
butterflies flitted in the sun.

There are still large areas of scrub quite untouched, and
the reserves should be marked out to be preserved before the
devouring desire to raise money by Crown Lands sales comes into
play.